Newly-revised edition of the story, with minor editing and overall improvements made. Other than that, it's the same gushy story as before. Enjoy!

Touch
By Stormlight

She found herself standing in Hotohori’s bedchamber, without any awareness of how she’d come to be there. Looking around in confusion, her eyes fell upon the huge, four-post bed which was canopied in sheer crimson-and-crème silks, the crowning glory of a rich and splendidly decorated room. It was an extraordinary, sensual bed, fit only for an emperor, and there in the middle of it, resplendent amid satin cushions and pillows and sheets, lay His Imperial Majesty, himself.

At the sight of the beautiful man lying among the immaculate bedclothes, her breath hitched in her throat and heat rushed into her face and pooled low in her belly, her heart beginning a frantic pace in her chest. She had never seen—had never expected to see—the magnificent sight of the emperor lounging, lithe and beautiful and completely naked, before her very eyes. His body was that of a heavenly deity, long arms resting above his head, elegant hands lying lax amongst the sheets. His chest rose and fell as he breathed, smooth muscles rippling beneath supple, dusky skin. Strands of glowing, tarnished-silver hair spread in glorious disarray over his slim abdomen and lean hips. His muscled legs were so much longer than she’d expected; they stretched across the silken sheets, one slightly bent and parted as if to better display the heavy testicles and sleek length of his member resting between his pale thighs.

Her cheeks flaming with mortification, she forced her gaze from that mysterious, fascinating picture and looked upon his face. His eyes were closed. His lips—full, sensual, soft—were parted slightly as he breathed, his perfect features composed in sleep, unaware of his rapt audience, who had drifted unknowingly to stand at the foot of his bed.

Or so she thought.

It was to her consternation when thick, heavy lashes began to flutter and slowly lift, revealing the captivating golden eyes that she so loved. They bore into her, smoldering and hungry, and it occurred to her dimly that he seemed not at all surprised to see her there. His lips curved slightly into a soft smile as he breathed her name—his deep, sensual voice sending a ripple of pure desire through her body—and began to rise from his reclined position. However, something stopped him, kept him from reaching for her, and it was only then that she saw, bound to each wrist and to the posts of the bed, the twisted, crimson scarves nearly hidden among the bedclothes.

Eyes widening in dismay to see her emperor bound in such a subservient position, she crossed to the side of the bed, reaching to release his wrists from their silken bindings. But his voice, deep and husky with hidden emotion, stilled her actions with a single, murmured word.

“Don’t.”

She froze, breath once again stilling in her throat as her eyes met and were held within his deep, penetrating stare. Their gazes clashed for long, silent moments, sinking within innumerable emotions and unvoiced feelings, their faces so close that they shared breath. And then, lidded eyes glowing with hungry desire, he leaned as close to her as his bonds would allow and commanded huskily, “Kiss me.”

Her eyes went wide at the murmured demand, her heart thrumming madly in her ears as she fought to resist the overwhelming magnetism of his voice. But it was a losing battle, over almost before it began. She found herself swaying forward, following him as he once again leaned back into the soft pillows. Her hands involuntarily reached to brace themselves on either side of his head, fingers tangling and fisting in the length of his silken hair, as her lips came to rest shyly against his soft mouth ... which immediately opened and seized control, the chaste sweetness of her kiss becoming lost in the consuming desire of his. His eager tongue swept into the warm depths beyond her lips, tangling with her own, suckling and thrusting, making love to her mouth as she trembled against him, doing her best to keep up with his passion.

She finally tore away, gasping for breath; her arms seemed suddenly unable to support her as she collapsed against him, trembling with the aftershock of his kiss. He nearly burned against her cheek, his chest rising and falling rapidly with his harsh breathing and pounding heartbeat. She turned her head slightly and brushed her mouth over his skin, inadvertently caressing a dusky nipple, and felt his heart pulse even harder against her lips as a soft groan escaped his panting mouth. He was damp and flushed, and against the arms that were draped limply over his shoulders, she could feel the wiry muscles in his arms straining as he fought the bindings restraining his hands. Her eyes fluttered open as her wits began to return, and she raised her head to shyly meet his gaze. His expression was both tender and wild as he met her eyes, the burning in his own growing fever-bright. “Again,” he pleaded softly through kiss-swollen lips. “Please ...”

She trembled with pleasure; to hear the emperor, of all people, begging for her kiss was strangely arousing, and she was all too willing to comply, bracing herself for the onslaught of erotic passion that he’d displayed before. But this time it was different. Where his first kiss had been all primal need and burning hunger, his second was soft and slow and deep. She found herself melting against him, being swept away in the tender emotion, the pure and absolute love he felt for her from the deepest parts of his soul; emotion that she’d once been so hesitant to accept, but could no longer refuse or ignore. So she cupped his face in her hands, trailing her fingers over his skin and into his hair, and kissed back with all her heart, feeling him tremble beneath her, his longing so tangible she could taste it.

Again, she broke the kiss, softly and with regret, to raise her head only far enough to meet his eyes. She murmured his name, her voice trembling and soft with wonder, and his expression became one of tender longing. He tried to reach for her and remembered his bonds. His sigh was one of frustration, yet still he did not ask her to free him. Instead, he gazed into her eyes and whispered pleadingly, “Touch me, beloved.” It was a command that she shyly obeyed, resting her hands against his throat, feeling him swallow against her fingers. “I wish to feel your hands on my body,” he whispered again, eyes fluttering closed as she traced the path of his jugular. “I wish for you to touch every part of me.”

She hesitated still, gliding her fingers to his shoulders before pausing; never had she touched a man so intimately before, and she was uncertain how to proceed. She slowly stroked up his arms, leaning over him as she reached his hands, twining their fingers together softly before withdrawing again and gliding back down to his shoulders, over the protruding collarbone to rest lightly on his chest.

“Wait.”

She froze at the murmured command, regarding him uncertainly, wondering if she’d done something wrong. He smiled at her gently, reassuringly. “Please,” he whispered. “Remove your garments.”

Her eyes widened as her blush deepened. “Wh-what?” she squeaked.

“Your outer garments. Please. I wish to feel you, as well,” he breathed.

“I ... well ... if you say so ...” She swallowed hard, turning away as shaking fingers reached to undo the buttons of her blouse.

“No,” he whispered, raising himself slightly. “Face me. Allow me to watch you disrobe.”

She wasn’t entirely certain about this. Seeing him in all of his natural glory was one thing, but to let him see her? He was bound to be disappointed. Still, he was the emperor, and he’d commanded her, and who was she to disobey him? And despite her uncertainty, the thought of those glorious eyes watching her every movement as she undressed was somewhat enticing. So she turned toward him again, undoing the buttons with her shaking hands, nearly popping some of them from their seams in her nervousness, until the shirt hung open to reveal the lacy, cotton bra she wore beneath.

There was nothing seductive or calculated in her movements; she didn't know how to be seductive. But still, he watched her as a man entranced as she shrugged out of the garment and dropped it onto the floor beside the bed. Then she wriggled out of the skirt she wore. That, too, landed on the floor, and she sat before him on the bed clothed only in her undergarments, feeling as vulnerable and exposed as he surely did in his nakedness.

His eyes glowed as he drank in the sight of her, his face as open as a child’s in his obvious delight. “You are beautiful,” he breathed, smiling at her lovingly.

She ducked her head shyly, not really believing his words—after all, her supposed beauty was nothing to what he saw in his mirror every day—but nevertheless gratified to hear them. He leaned as far toward her as he could, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “Now,” he whispered around his smile, “please continue.”

Needing no further encouragement, she again rested her hands on his shoulders and allowed them to trace over the firm expanse of his chest in a slow caress. His skin felt like hot satin beneath her seeking palms, and she sighed with the pleasure of it, allowing them to slip around his sides. He squirmed as she stroked his ribcage under his arms, and she realized with sly delight that he was ticklish there. She hovered, teasing him gently until soft, breathless chuckles escaped his lips and he was squirming to escape her probing fingers, his look reproachful yet delighted. She grinned back, suddenly realizing that she’d never really heard him laugh before. The sound of it was beautiful and served to make him seem less like some fallen angel and more like the man he always claimed to be. It eased her fears even more effectively than his most reassuring words, and some of the nervous tension drained from her body.

Giving him relief, she moved on, exploring his abdomen thoroughly. She caressed his pectorals again, traced along the lower ridge of his ribcage, then down the middle of his concave stomach, feeling the skin quiver beneath her touch. He released a shaky gasp and arched his back as she reached his lower belly and paused to softly pet the skin below his navel. She moved on, caressing the dip of his pelvis where leg met thigh, over his hipbone, down the outside of his leg to his knee and back again, up the inner side toward his thighs and the engorged, erected member. His breath was coming in sharp gasps now, his entire body tensed with anticipation and the surges of arousal her soft little hands were stirring in his body.

And then he felt her hands still against his thighs, branding their heat into his flesh, and he forced his clenched eyes open to regard her. She sat there unmoving, her eyes fixed firmly on the area between his legs, wide with surprise and a bit of awe. He felt himself blush beneath her fascinated gaze, realizing that she had never seen an aroused male before. Her regard made him self-conscious, wondering if the sight was frightening to her. But she didn’t look frightened, only interested, and he could feel her fingers twitch on his skin, as though she was restraining herself from reaching out to grasp the distended organ.

The thought of her soft little hands wrapping themselves about his member, clinging to him, stroking and fondling, nearly made him groan aloud as his arousal surged ever higher. His all-consuming desire to release himself caused the slick, milky fluid of pre-cum to bead on his tip as he strained at his silken bonds, longing to free himself so that he might spread her legs and thrust and impale her soft, compliant body to finally make her his own. As it was, all he could do was writhe beneath her helplessly as his breath hissed sharply between his teeth.

The sound of his harsh gasps finally drew her gaze to his face; his eyes were hot, molten gold, fixed on her with the intent gaze of a very hungry predator, and her body's temperature surged higher in response. She wondered if she’d offended him by staring so hard, but he didn’t seem offended. He seemed more as though he’d like to pounce on her and consume her so completely that there would be nothing left of her. For the first time, she was glad of those chords that bound his wrists, although by now they looked frayed and rather worn from his obsessive tugging. The skin about his wrists had grown swollen and red and she frowned as she reached up to touch one, stroking the painful welts softly.

The dark hunger in his eyes faded a little; an expression of tender emotion took its place, and he smiled softly, silently reassuring her that he was alright. Then he lowered his gaze to her other hand, which still rested on his lower belly, her fingers idly twining themselves in the dark, wiry hair over his groin. She belatedly realized what she was doing and her gaze shyly lowered from his as she regarded his member again, noting how it quivered with tension, swollen and purple with blood and slick with the moisture that continued to leak from the tiny slit in the head. She wondered how much longer he could hold out before he finally released. All of her health classes had never prepared her for something like this. Diagrams in textbooks were nothing compared to being faced with the real thing. Slowly, she reached out to touch him, desiring to know what he felt like, then hesitated for a brief moment, uncertain.

“Please,” she heard him whisper harshly through his panting breaths, felt his eager gaze on her hovering fingers, and she shyly complied with the plea by touching the very tip of him, stroking over the seeping head softly, before gliding down to wrap his erection within her palm. She heard the sharp hiss of his breath, watched as his stomach seized beneath the stimulation of her touch, felt his hips jerk sharply against the other palm pressed to his groin as he thrust himself further into her cradling fingers. The soft creak of silken chords gave testament to the strength of his arms, as they yet again strained to break their bonds. He thrust again, pushing himself into her palm. “Please,” he moaned again, his voice thick with yearning.

Understanding now what he desired, she allowed her hand to stroke softly up and down the thick organ. It was like the rest of him, she discovered. Hard and soft all at once, and so very warm against her palm. She tightened her grasp, quickening the pace, and watched with fascination as he thrashed on the bed, the muscles in his abdomen quivering with tension, his legs tangling into the sheets as his lean hips thrust repeatedly beneath her erotic ministrations. His skin glistened with moisture, tendons stretching tightly beneath silken flesh. His head was thrown back, throat working silently as parted lips allowed passage of panting breaths and soft, nearly inaudible whimpers.

His face was an expression of torturous pleasure, beautiful and wild. To see her normally calm, stoic emperor writhing with such helpless lack of control, caught in the throes of unbearable pleasure that she was administering to him, caused the slow fire in her blood to grow ever brighter, arousing her body until she felt she might pass out from the heat of it. She felt desirable, powerful to think that she could reduce this beautiful man to such an impassioned state, knowing somehow that he had never been touched in such a manner before. It was to her honor that he allowed her to be the first to watch his carefully built walls crumble, to see him for the mere man he truly was. Bound and humbled before her, his pride shattered in the face of his desire; a man who longed for nothing more than to be loved as any other might be. Did his love for her shine so greatly that he would humble himself in such a way? What had she ever done to deserves such reverence?

Determined to give him as much satisfaction as she possibly could, despite her lack of experience, she explored him thoroughly, memorizing him with her fingers, stroking and fondling and caressing until he cried out from the sheer pleasure of her touch. She pressed her thumb into his tip, dragging the nail over the leaking slit, and he jerked hard with a harsh cry. Her courage growing, she leaned over him to kiss his chest and stomach, feeling his muscles quivering beneath her lips, tasting the salt of his skin as he gasped her name. Her mouth trailed softly across his thighs, and he groaned. Cupping silky testicles in one hand, pushing the swollen member firmly against his belly with the other, she pressed her lips to the underside of his erection, trailing up and down the dark vein, teasing him with soft, fluttering touches of her tongue.

He moaned and gasped beneath her ministrations, straining wildly. “You torture me,” he panted, jerking at his bonds and only succeeding in dragging himself further up the bed. She smiled against his flesh, pleased with his lack of restraint, before opening her lips to take him into her mouth, suckling ever-so-softly at his seeping head. His taste was strange, not altogether pleasant, but it was him, and it caused her own unfulfilled desire to burn hotter, the dull ache throbbing steadily between her legs.

And then, with an inarticulate shout, his body abruptly went rigid. His back arched gracefully off the bed, caught up in the grips of a powerful orgasm, and his hip jerked hard against her chin as he thrust himself helplessly into her mouth. Startled, she reared back just in time as his member spasmed in her grasp, ejaculating a warm stream of thick, milky fluid over his stomach and her hands. In a few moments, after several more desperate, hard thrusts into her slick grasp, the flow ebbed and he collapsed into the twisted linens, his chest heaving as he gasped for breath, sweat-dampened hair straggling over his flesh in glistening waves.

Watching him uncertainly, suddenly overcome with shyness, she gently freed him, noting how he had once again grown soft and limp in the aftermath of his climax. Having nothing else close at hand, she used the edge of a sheet to wipe his release from her fingers, gently running the soft fabric over his belly and thighs to clean him. She was stopped by a gentle touch against her hand, and noted with some surprise the frayed ends of the silken scarves, which still remained knotted at his wrists. In the grips of his orgasm, he had finally found the strength to snap his bonds. She could see the raw, bleeding cuts where fine silken threads had sliced into his flesh, and her face grew hot, her cheeks burning darkly as she slowly met his gaze.

The burning hunger had faded into hazy, golden contentment as he raised himself from the bed and brought his arms up to cup her face in strong hands. “Beloved, I thank you,” he breathed, the words ghosting softly across her lips before he caught them in a sweet, tender kiss. His arms slipped around her, pulling her against his body. She could feel the slickness of his damp, overheated skin against her chest, and suddenly wished that she’d earlier found the courage to remove her bra along with her shirt, wanting to feel him without any barriers in the way.

Then he was turning her, lowering her back into the pillows he’d just vacated, pressing his body to hers so she could feel him more fully, the heat of his stomach and chest and thighs held flush against her own. His leg slid between her thighs, flesh gliding along flesh, and then she could feel the bulge of his expended member pushing suggestively at the juncture of her thighs, warm and heavy and soft. Her breath left her in a quivering rush as her legs parted further, inviting him closer still, lost to the sensual pleasure of his weight trapping her body beneath him.

His hands were not idle; one had fisted into the wealth of her hair as the other stroked her throat and shoulder, following the same path she had taken. His mouth lowered to her throat, and he began a soft, steady suction of her skin, making her quiver with delight. He smoothed over the skin of her ribcage, his trailing fingers coming to rest just beneath her bosom, and she caught her breath as he trailed one finger, and then another, over the swell of her breast, hooking them around the top of her bra and pulling down to release her from its confines. Then his hand slid upward, cupping the freed breast and she could feel her nipple begin to tighten against the soft abrasion of his palm.

And suddenly his lips—those warm, beautiful lips—were pressed to her breast, kissing, sucking gently and teasing the nipple into a hard, aching point with his skilled tongue. She sighed her pleasure and arched into his touch, pressing herself to his mouth, silently demanding more, and trembled as he complied, paying slow and thorough homage to each breast. Between her thighs, she could feel him slowly growing hard and aroused all over again, the swelling organ prodding more insistently at her shielded entrance. She pressed herself against him, wanting to feel more, and he replied with a steady, gliding thrust against her body, pushing harder into her as she moaned her satisfaction.

His lips ceased their gentle suckling on her breasts as he moved patiently downward to further explore her body, trailing mouth and hands across her trembling belly. His tongue swirled into her navel while his fingers dipped between her thighs, stroking tenderly over the panties which had soaked through with her own unfulfilled arousal. Breathing her name, he pushed the restricting fabric aside to sink into her in an erotic caress. She cried out wildly and undulated against his stroking fingers. He murmured into her chest, moist breath ghosting between her breasts as he told her that just the sound of her voice was enough to arouse him this much. Her taste was exquisite, her body was beautiful, he loved her beyond all sense of reason, would give up everything—his crown, his empire, his soul—if it meant he could just be with her, just like this, for the rest of eternity.

She didn’t realize she was crying until he kissed the tears from her face, murmuring soothing words into her ear as he cradled her against him, continuing his gentle ministrations to her body. When she was squirming and whimpering against him in her desperation for release, he whispered once more of his love and gently parted her thighs. “May I take you, beloved?” he whispered, ever the gentleman. She wanted to tell him she’d kill him if he didn’t take her after all of his foreplay, but a jerky nod was all she could manage.

Then he was moving over her, his arousal probing at her slick entrance as he began to sink slowly and gently between her folds and finally, finally make her his own. Her groan of elation echoed loudly in the silence of the room as she pushed upward to meet his thrust—

THUD, THUD, THUD

“Oi! Wake yer lazy ass up! Ya gonna sleep all day?”

The harsh, crude bellow, coupled by the hard, insistent pounding on the door of the bedroom, was more than enough to effectively shock her out of the most erotic and realistic dream she had ever had the pleasure of falling into.

She shrieked in surprise, jerking upright in her own bed, the sheets a tangle of sweat-dampened linen around her legs as she sat panting and shaking with reaction, wondering what in the hell had just happened. Slowly, her hazy mind cleared and understanding dawned, and her flushed face darkened even further as she buried it in her shaking hands, torn between fury and relief and absolute dismay at having been interrupted from so exquisite a fantasy.

“Miaka!” Tasuki bellowed again. “Do I gotta come in there an’ pull ya outta bed myself?!”

“No!” she shrieked, horrified by the thought of her Seishi barging in and discovering her in such a state; shaking, sweat-soaked and aroused beyond all sense of reason. The pressure was an uncomfortably heavy ache between her legs, one which refused to go away on its own. She’d never hear the end of the teasing should Tasuki realize just what he’d interrupted, and worse yet, he’d spread it to the others that their “innocent” little priestess had just been involved in one hell of a wet dream. Should anyone ever discover just whom it was she’d been dreaming of—Tamahome, for instance, or even worse, Hotohori himself—she thought she’d probably die from the shame of it.

“I’m awake,” she managed to call through the door, checking her watch and noting that it was nearly ten in the morning (as near as she could reckon time in this place). Breakfast had been over hours ago. No wonder Tasuki had taken it upon himself to act as her rooster. She was usually the first one at the table and the last one to leave. He was worrying about her and attempting to cover his concern by being as obnoxious as possible.

It was sweet of him, really. But that still didn’t keep her from wanting to strangle him for choosing right then to check up on her!

Groaning into her hands, Miaka moved to rise from the bed. It was difficult to stand, she noted with weary amusement. Her legs were shaking with reaction, making her stagger slightly when she put her weight on them. Her entire body was one big, unsatisfied lump of flesh, and even the feeling of her nightshirt brushing over her aroused nipples was almost unbearable, bringing to mind the recollection of how Hotohori’s soft lips had felt against them as he’d suckled so tenderly ...

“Oh, I need a bath,” she moaned, rubbing her aching chest and wincing. She felt sticky and hot, especially between her legs. She wondered if she should call for a maid to fill the small tub in her room, or if she should risk the chance of running into anyone and make a dash for the large community bath she normally used. The small, private tub was barely large enough to stand in, much less take a full bath in. Rinsing off wouldn't be nearly satisfying enough, but she didn’t think she could face anyone at this moment, and with her luck the first person she’d actually run into would be Tamahome. At the memory of her boyfriend, she cringed. “I can’t believe I dreamed something like that about Hotohori,” she whispered guiltily.

She closed her eyes in recollection of the dream-words he’d spoken, the adoration and love in his voice as he’d murmured her name, as he’d pledged his life to her. The slow, liquid heat began to kindle again and she shivered. Had she ever reacted so strongly when Tamahome whispered to her like that? She didn’t think she had. Then again, when had Tamahome ever said such erotic things to her before? When had she ever been even remotely as intimate with Tamahome as she had with Hotohori in that dream?

Well ... not that they’d really had time to pursue that kind of a physical relationship, considering she’d been busy looking for the rest of her Seishi and all ...

But still ... Hotohori?

What was the matter with her? Did she or did she not love Tamahome? Why couldn’t she have dreamed like that about him? And while she was on the subject, since when did she possess the imagination to dream like that about anybody, for that matter? She’d never even seen a real penis before, but Hotohori’s had felt real enough to her! That thought made her blush all over again as she’d remembered what she had done to it in the dream. She still remembered his taste on her tongue; strange and not-pleasant, but still him. How could her imagination have conjured up a detail like that?

“Forget it. It wasn’t real. It’s just pure, physical attraction manifesting itself in my dream, that’s all,” she muttered to herself, picking up a brush to absently work the tangles out of her hair. “Hotohori is an extremely beautiful man, so of course I’m attracted to him. I’d have to be dead otherwise. But I love Tamahome.”

But, if that were so, then why had Hotohori’s words made her so unbearably happy, so happy that they’d driven her to tears? Even though it was a dream, it had felt so real. She’d truly believed everything was real, and she had let it all happen. She hadn’t even thought to put a stop to it, had gladly complied with everything he’d requested of her, and had even taken the initiative. He hadn’t told her to suck him like that; she’d done that all on her own. And she’d enjoyed it. She’d probably do it again if given half a chance.

Funny, she’d never even thought about doing something like that to Tamahome before. She’d never thought much past the kissing stage with him, even though she loved him. So did this mean she loved Hotohori, as well, even more than Tamahome? She knew she cared for the emperor a great deal as a close friend and would be devastated if she ever lost him, probably just as much as she would if she’d lost Tamahome, if she was willing to be honest. But real love?

“Gyarrg!” Miaka shook her head fiercely to banish the confusing thoughts from her mind. She was in no state to ponder such matters at the moment. What she needed to do now was get herself cleaned up and settle her rampaging emotions before somebody else barged in and caught her out. If Nuriko got wind that something was up, he’d press the issue until she caved and admitted everything, the nosy little busybody that he was. And then she’d be forced to flee for her life because Nuriko would kill her if he ever discovered that she was lusting after his emperor that way!

Muttering to herself about stupid teenage hormones and sexual frustration, Miaka threw her bathing supplies together into a small bag and cautiously opened the door of her room, half expecting Tasuki to still be waiting out there to pounce on her. To her relief, he’d disappeared, and she stepped from the room and into the morning light, muttering a nervous greeting to a few passing servants, who all bowed to her respectfully.

She was in luck; not a Seishi was in sight and the servants were all too well-trained to ask why their priestess was darting through the palace like a hyperactive ninja in a bad martial arts flick. Her bath was coming closer and closer. All she needed to do was turn a corner and ...

“Whoomph!”

Her breath left her in a rush as she collided head-on with somebody rounding the corner from the other direction. “Sorry, sorry! My fault!” she stammered, bowing hastily at the person, before a pair of hands gripped her arms and stilled her movements.

“Are you alright, Miaka?” came the gentle inquiry.

Miaka’s entire body tensed. Of course. Of course it would be Hotohori she’d run into. No way was Lady Luck ever that kind to her. Needless to say, she did not see a career as a gambling woman looming anywhere in her future. “I-I’m fine,” she stuttered, unable to look him in the eye, because she knew that as soon as she did she would start blushing all ov—

Wait...

Damn. Too late.

“Uh ... I was just on my way to ... take a bath,” she explained shakily, trying desperately to ignore the barrage of dream-images that had abruptly begun an attack on her memory. Pictures of the way he’d looked, writhing and impassioned on the bed; of the way he’d felt, hot and hard and silken beneath her hands; of the way he’d tasted, warm and salty on her lips.

Her teeth clenched together as she fought off an all-too-familiar desire that had begun to send sparks of heat through her bloodstream. She couldn’t do it. She would never be able look him in the face again, because all she could see now was the dream. All she could think was how much she wanted to dream it again, of how much she wanted it to actually happen. Tamahome be damned, she understood now, all-too-well, that it was Hotohori whom she desired the most. Perhaps he had been the one whom she’d always desired, only she’d been unwilling to admit it because he was an emperor and she ... just didn’t feel that she was worthy to be his anything.

Besides, it had been months since he’d first confessed his love for her. Months since she’d rejected that love to accept Tamahome’s instead, because he was somebody who was more on her level, whom she felt more comfortable in being with. She had really loved him, she knew she did ... but if her feelings had been so shallow as to change virtually overnight, then why couldn’t Hotohori’s? What if he’d already gotten over her? She wasn’t exactly the kind of woman a man like him usually looked for to begin with. Hell, she was hardly even a woman yet, and he kept a harem full of beauties who were all willing and able to make his wildest fantasies come true.

Miaka knew she was a horrible liar. She would never be able to keep her newfound desire for him a secret, and if he really had decided he was better off looking elsewhere for a potential empress, things could get really awkward, really quickly.

“Are you certain you are feeling alright?” Hotohori questioned again, jerking her thoughts back to the situation at hand. “You look pale. Are you feeling ill?”

“Ill” was hardly the word she would use to describe the flock of rampaging butterflies that were currently hosting a professional wrestling match in the pit of her stomach. Perhaps nauseous, shell-shocked, overwhelmed ...

“I-I’m fine,” she managed to croak, in what was hardly a reassuring manner. “I just ... um ... I had a really weird dream, is all. I’m still recovering, I guess.”

She immediately wanted to bite off her own tongue. Out of all the excuses she could have given him, she picked that one? She really did suck at lying, didn't she?

There was a long, startled pause, followed by a soft, wondering, “I see.” The strange inflection in his voice immediately brought her apprehension up to full red-alert. Good grief, had he already guessed what kind of dream it had been? Had he guessed who it had been about?

If Nakago had chosen that moment to break into the palace and kidnap her out from under Hotohori’s nose, Miaka was sure she would have kissed him in gratitude.

She felt a gentle touch under her chin, and she blinked to clear the moisture that had somehow gathered on her lashes without her notice. Still unwilling to meet his gaze, her eyes dropped to the red-clothed arm in her line of vision ...

... and the world abruptly flipped over on its axis.

The skin of his wrist was noticeably marred by harsh, painful-looking welts and thin slices—like rope burns and paper cuts—just as though that wrist had been bound tightly not so long ago, and he had struggled mightily to free it from its bonds. Her breath hitched in her throat so harshly that she was set to a fit of coughing, unable to tear her eyes away from those vivid red lines. It felt like she was about to pass out.

“Miaka.”

She finally managed to tear her gaze from his wrist, raising it ever-so-slowly to meet his eyes. She saw immediately that he knew she had recognized those wounds. She could see the hope and disbelief growing in his eyes, coupled with a familiar glow of burning, hungry desire. “Miaka,” he repeated, his voice a husky murmur, and she shivered as the sound of it washed over her senses. He took hold of her hand, and she was powerless to stop him as he pulled her down the hall. They were outside his private chambers, she realized. And then, suddenly, they were inside his chambers, and he was turning her to face him again, and she was fighting off more butterflies.

“I ... the dream ... T-Tasuki pounded on my door and ... w-woke me up,” she struggled to explain, attempting to gather her rampaging thoughts, to figure out how it was that he could have shared such a dream with her. Something like that just wasn’t possible ... was it?

Of course, it was also impossible for a ratty old library book to suck teenage girls into another world, and yet look at where she was. She was living a real-life fairytale, with phoenixes and dragons and emperors and brave warriors and quests to save a dying land.

After all that, sharing erotic dreams didn't seem so impossible, after all.

She was nervous; even more nervous than she’d been in the dream. That was one thing; this was something else altogether, and with the way he was staring at her, who wouldn’t be feeling a little unsettled at the moment?

Unsettled? She felt positively giddy.

He moved a step toward her, and she automatically moved a step away, and found herself against the wall. His hands came up to press to that wall, trapping her within the warm circle of his arms, and he lowered his head over her own, moving closer so that she was forced to raise her face to see his. “Miaka,” he murmured a third time, a benediction; a word of pure hope. His lips curled into a slow, sensual smile as he lowered his mouth to her ear. “I am still recovering, as well,” he breathed.

The strength bled from her body like water from a sieve, but before she could fall, his arms were drawing her into his embrace, cuddling her to his body. She was shocked to feel him trembling. “Your touch,” he whispered, nuzzling her ear. “Your taste ... the feel of your lips on my skin ... I shall never forget.” His arms tightened. “It was a miracle,” he continued. “A gift, a blessing. Am I foolish to hope that you believe the same?”

She felt her pulse throbbing in her throat, keeping time with the fierce pounding of her heart. “N-no,” she replied after a long moment, the only word she could manage. What else could she say? What else could it have been but a miracle? Somehow, this changed everything. Had Suzaku been trying to tell her something? Something that she’d always refused to see for herself? He was supposed to be this world’s equivalent of Cupid, after all. So why shouldn’t he meddle in the love affairs of humans, especially the ones he called his own?

She swallowed hard, considering, and then shyly admitted, “I never ... dreamed anything like this with Tamahome. Not even once. So it ... it must ... mean something.”

His eyes lit up at the admission, the hope growing in their depths. “And does this not distress you, to have shared such a vision with me, instead of your beloved?” he questioned softly.

She shook her head silently, not trusting herself to speak.

He knelt before her, to her astonishment, and she stared down at him through wide, uncertain eyes. It seemed so wrong for the proud emperor to humble himself in such a way before her, even if she was his priestess. This wasn't a dream. She tried to urge him to his feet, but he merely reached up to take her face between his hands, his expression as serious as she’d ever seen it. “Why?” he murmured.

Her cheeks flamed. She suddenly wanted to crawl into the wall and hide. Even if she could admit it to herself, admitting her newfound ideas to him was just a little harder. “I—” She paused and moistened her dry lips. “That is ... it wasn’t as if I ... hated it,” she whispered. “I ... I believed it was really happening, but I didn’t run away. I suppose I could have, but I didn’t want to. It never occurred to me to leave. T-Tamahome never even crossed my mind.”

He was silent for a long, tense moment as he studied her face seriously, searching for ... she didn’t know what. She held her breath, wondering what he would say. Her doubts began to resurface in the face of his silence. Had she been right? Had his feelings changed, after all? Was he about to tell her too little, too late? And if he did that, would she be able to go on, alone in this strange world that was not her own, and pretend everything was okay? She would have neither of them, then, because she was not so heartless that she would turn to Tamahome again. She wouldn’t use him like that anymore.

Finally, Hotohori appeared to find what he was searching for. His expression was as calm and serene as always as he began to speak, but his eyes were burning with banked desire. “Then I ask if you would allow me to share such a vision with you again,” he whispered, and her eyes widened with astonishment. “I ask if you would allow me to complete what we started in our dream, and truly make you one with me. Please, beloved. When our duties are completed, and Konan is safe, I beg you ... become my empress. Let me love you freely.”

She drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes, realizing that she had started crying again. Silly of her, to always be crying in front of him, especially when she looked so terrible afterwards. His thumbs caressed her cheeks softly as he brushed the tears away, clearly not caring about swollen eyes or runny noses. She felt so foolish now, to have doubted the intensity of his feelings for her. She should have known better. Hotohori was not a man who loved superficially, with only shallow emotion. He was one who loved too deeply, possessing depths of emotion that would never run dry, would always fill her more completely than any food. She opened her eyes to meet his apprehensive gaze, offered him a tremulous smile, and whispered one, simple word. A word that she would have told him long ago, if she’d only possessed the courage to believe in him.

“Okay.”

For a moment, it seemed as though he hadn’t heard. Then comprehension dawned, and his face lit with the most beautiful smile she’d ever seen as he dragged her into his arms and held her tightly, whispering endearments into her hair amid relieved, breathless laughter. After months of hopeless longing, prayers, and fears of never having the only woman he’d ever loved, they would finally belong to each other. Finally.

In heaven, he was certain that Suzaku was smiling.